The David Affair
by MLaw
Summary: Illya disappears while in the middle of a courier drop that has gone badly... # 10 in the Saga-series AU
1. Chapter 1

Napoleon Solo watched his partner moving effortlessly across the roof, silhouetted against the the backdrop of the bright city lights, when he suddenly saw the flash of muzzle fire just to his left.

Illya arched his back, hurtling forward then disappeared from his view. Solo took careful aim in the direction of the flash; firing two silenced rounds from his special...hearing a loud a grunt; he knew he'd hit his mark.

His thoughts were already racing to his partner as he scrambled from one roof to the next until he reached where he last saw the Russian; finding no sign, he called out to him from the darkened roof top.

"Illya!"

"Here," came a muffled reply, beneath where Solo was standing. He looked over the edge of the building; spotting his partner dangling by his hand from the railing of the fire escape.

"A little help would be good now?" Illya called up to him.

Napoleon jumped down, grabbing Illya's arms; helping to hoist him up onto the grating. He held on, keeping the Russian steady as there was a large gash on his forehead but when Solo found blood on his hand; he realized Illya had been wounded in the shoulder.

"Apparently I have... been... shot?" Illya said in an unsteady voice before passing out into Napoleon's arms.

Napoleon lowered his partner down, leaning Illya's back against the side of the building as he tried to open a nearby window...it was better to try to carry him through the interior than to navigate the narrow ladders of the fire escape with Illya slung over his shoulder.

The window was unlocked and raising it slowly; he peeked inside the room making sure it was clear...it was obviously a woman's bedroom... He lifted his partner, maneuvering through the opening carefully, then laying him face down on the bed. Illya always had a switchblade cradled in the back of his jacket, and he reached down inside,slipping it out of it's sleeve, then used it to cut the shoulder of the Russian's jacket and turtleneck open.

He'd taken the hit in his left shoulder...but it was a through and through...at least the bullet didn't have to be removed and it looked to be fairly shallow.

He found the bathroom, grabbing some peroxide and towels...pouring the liquid into the wound, watching the disinfectant foam pink with the Russian's blood. He tore a white towel into strips, wrapping the wound and tying it tight.

That would at least do until he could at least get him out of the building and to medical at headquarters.

Then he looked at Illya's forehead...pouring more peroxide on it...the wound didn't look too bad, but there was a sizable lump..at that moment Illya came to, uttering a few choice words in Russian.

He helped his partner to sit up and Illya not waiting to be asked muttered "...I am fine."

"I hate to ask you this...but did you get the microfilm?"

"In the heel of my right shoe..."Illya answered, trying to maintain his composure as he attempted to get up from the bed.

"You sure you can walk?"

"Where are we?"

"Not quite sure...I lost track of how many rooftops we crossed before you got clipped. I shot the one who did it though, so I'm sure some of his feathered friends will be hovering about soon enough."

Illya tried to stand, suddenly swaying on his feet, feeling light-headed.

"Whoa...hang on there buddy," Napoleon said as he grabbed the Russian around the waist, steadying him," alright, we gotta get you out of here."

He sat Illya back down on the bed for a minute, intending to make sure the coast was clear before they ventured into the rest of the apartment...he opened the bedroom door slowly, just enough to give him a view, then finding they were alone; Napoleon lifted his partner up from the the bed, supporting him as the made it outside the apartment to the landing.

"You know this was supposed to be an easy milk-run. I do not know how Thrush found out about our dead-drop...we were compromised somehow." Illya grumbled... "Napoleon I will only slow you down," he said reaching down to his shoe, slipping open the heel; removing the container of microfilm," Take it... you can get it back to headquarters faster without me slowing you down. It is not that far away..."

"It's not that far away that I can't get you there...llya I'm not leaving you..."

"Napoleon, I will wait here for you to come back... trust me, I will be O.K.!"

He knew his partner was right...he could get it to headquarters in no time by himself, then get right back with a medical team...Solo reluctantly took the microfilm...helping Illya to an alcove that was somewhat hidden in the shadows.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?"

Illya held his waved his special reminding Solo he was armed. "Go!"

Napoleon took off to the stairs, calling back..."I'll be back, I promise."

"No, never mind coming back...just send help!"

Illya huddled himself into a ball, staying hidden in the dark end of the corridor, keeping his weapon at the ready. His head was throbbing and he was light-headed again, suddenly feeling as though he could hardly keep his eyes open...his head dropped down to his chest as he passed out.

Napoleon knew that they had spotted him as soon as he was a block away...two Thrush agents suddenly gave chase as he ran into an alley way at a dead run, climbing a fence at it's end, then ducked behind a dumpster on the other side.

His pursuers scaled the fence, then continued on, running out to the next block, turning left and heading away from him. Napoleon climbed back over the fence, doubling back down the alley...

He pulled his communicator, sure he'd finally given them the slip.

"Open Channel D- Waverly."

"Mr. Solo...you are overdue." answered the familiar British voice.

"Yes sir...we ran into a...umm, flock of birds. The drop was compromised, I have the package and will be report in shortly... but Mr. Kuryakin has been injured, I had to leave him behind...if we could send a medical team out, I would be very much relieved?" He gave Waverly the address that was in the Murray Hill section of Manhattan...

"Very good Mr. Solo... you stay put where you are, I will send transportation to pick you up, keep your communicator open to transmit your homing signal and I will send out an emergency pickup immediately for Mr. Kuryakin. I am sure we'll have him here back at headquarters by the time you arrive...Waverly out."

A half hour later, Solo walked into the Waverly's conference room holding out the expected micofilm.

Waverly took it from him, placing it in a special container then handed it to Lisa Rogers..."If you would be so good as to take this to be analyzed... now Mr. Solo, there has been some complication. The medical team was unable to locate Mr. Kuryakin at the address you provided."

"They found only this..." Alexander Waverly held up a communicator pen." Apparently it was lying at the end the third floor corridor. They also found blood traces and there were scuff marks on the floor as if someone had been dragged...they searched the premises but unfortunately no other trace of him was found. I fear he may have been discovered boy those Thrush agents...that is most distressing indeed."

"Sir, if it's alright with you; I'd like to go back and canvass the area?

"You may...but just be careful, just in case Thrush may still be in the area in the area...take a few agents with you."

Napoleon exited the office heading straight to Elliott's office...walking through the door finding her working on a report with her partner Ari Ziv...

"Napoleon...to what do I owe this honor from ye?" she smiled.

"Ellie...we've got a bit of a problem..."


	2. Chapter 2

Napoleon looked quite grave..."Illya is missing."

"What do ye mean he's missing...I just talked to him not two hours ago? He was in the commissary...yer teasin' me aren't ye?"

"No... unfortuately, it's not a joke. I volunteered for a quick courier pick up on 36th in Murray Hill and he decided to tag along...

Elliott's demenor now changed to that of annoyance...

"Yah...and what happened?"

"The drop was being monitored by Thrush...we were involved in a roof top chase...he ugh was shot and...

"Jay-sus he got shot? Then why the feck are you here?"

"Elliott calm down,"Ari said, " and let the man explain?"

"I will not calm dow..."

"Enh...temper?" Ari warned her with a pointing finger.

"Alright...sorry Napoleon," she said taking a deep breath.

"Look, he was the one who ended retrieving the package from the drop site...he wasn't wounded badly but took a good lump on his head and was dizzy...he insisted I leave him and send a team back to pick him up..." Napoleon sighed in exasperation," God...we were only on 36th Street...we weren't that far...so I left him. I lost the Thrush who were after us and called for a pickup. Waverly said medical was there to get him within twenty minutes; when they got there...he was gone?"

"Well then let's go look for him?" Ari said.

The three agents went to the motorpool, picking up a car; they headed straight to Illya's last location. They arrived at the four floor walk-up; going directly to the third floor where Illya had been left... seeing the bit of blood in the alcove and the skuff marks that ended at the top of the stairs.

"Look at the floor...it's filthy, but there's no sign of a struggle...even injured, he'd put up a fight."Napoleon said as he walked along the hallway looking for any clues.

"Could a good Samaritan have helped him maybe?" Ari asked.

"I don't know, that's possible...we'll do a door-to-door, someone could have seen him," Napoleon said," I have a feeling now that Thrush doesn't have him."

"How do ye figure that?"

"Just instinct Ellie...a gut feeling?"

The three agents seperated and literally knocked on every door in the building...six tenants had not responded and were obviously not home. Elliott was at the last door at the end of the fourth floor...

"Who is it?" called a woman's voice.

"Yes ma'am," Elliott said, trying to mask her accent," Could you possibly answer a few questions for me? It will take only a few minutes...I am looking for someone who was last seen in this building?"

The door creaked open slowly, just slightly as the woman had the safety chain still attached...as face peeked out from the narrow opening; it was an older woman..."

"What do you want?" she asked suspiciously.

"So sorry to bother you...but I am looking for the man in this photograph...he was last seen on the third floor about an an hour and a half ago?"

The woman looked at the picture of Illya...his ID photo. sitting with his hands crossed in front of his chest...posing very seriously.

The woman looked at it impassively...then looked at Elliott, studying her face and then suddenly became very agitated.

"You...I know you...you filthy red-headed Irish whore...you ruined my son...you and that good for nothing Russian father of his... go away or I'll kill you!" The woman suddenly flashed a butcher knife and then proceeded to slam the door in Elliott's face.

She walked back up the hallway to the top of the stairs, pulling out her communicator...

"Channel F...Napoleon?"

"Any luck?"

"Napoleon...something strange...don't know if it means anything. There was an older woman in 4-D...she didn't react to Illya's photograph...but she got very upset about me? I was hiding my accent but she called me an Irish whore and accused me of 'ruining' her son...as did with his Russian father?"

"Well...that seems a little coincidental doesn't it? Come downstairs and I'll go up and pay her a visit."

Elliott met Napoleon and Ari on the second floor..."Watch out Napoleon...she flashed a butcher knife at me...ye know she may just not be right in the head?"

Napoleon walked up to the fourth floor and rapped gently on the door to 4-D... he heard woman's shrill voice scream

"I told you to go away!"

The woman opened the door expecting to the the red-head..."Oh?" she said softening her voice," I thought you were someone else...pardon me? What can I do for you?""

"Yes ma'am...I am Mr. Anthony Solo, with the ugh...Acme Home Improvements Company, and I am here to tell you the good news that you have won a an all-expense paid home make-over for your apartment!"

"Really," she smiled, batting her lashes at him, "please Mr. Solo come in...she undid the safetly chain opening the door for him. She fussed with her hair then brushed her dress, trying to smoothe it..."I wasn't expecting company."

Napoleon glanced around quickly, not wanting to arouse suspicion..."You live alone Mrs...?"

"Bogdanovich...Dorothy Bogdanovich and no I have a son...David...he's out right now but he'll be back soon.

Napoleon picked up a framed black and while photograph of a young man...fairhaired, neatly dressed. He looked to be about fifteen years old.

"Is this your son?"

"Oh yes," she beamed, " isn't my David handsome...but he's older now, about your age, "she said with a sigh," Children...Mr. Solo do you have any?"

"Not that I know of ma'am," he smiled.

"Well I'll tell you, they can be so frustrating sometimes...my David has not been the best behaved of sons...nearly broke my heart...but now he's come home to me..."

"That's good to hear Mrs. Bogdanovich...well I'd need to speak to both of you to approve the renovations?"

"No!" she snapped at him, "This is my place...he has nothing to say about what I do! He's a wicked boy but I'll have him straightend out...you mark my words!" She became increasingly agitated.

"Alright, if I may, Doris? That's no problem...Acme wants it's clients to be completely satisfied. If I could just take a quick look around the place then I'll return in a few days with the proposed plans for your approval. How does that sound?"

"Oh that sounds wonderful," she smile very calmly now.

Napoleon walked from room to room pretending to take a few measurements, when he got to what looked like a boy's room; he hesitated. It was not the room that a man would have...and it seemed more like a shrine, with toys and games neatly stacked. There was quite a bit of dust on the furniture and it was obvious that no one was living there.

"Is this your son's room?"

"Why yes...the little treasure, just loves his old things around him." she smiled.

"Well, I think I've seen enough." Napoleon handed her one of his bogus business cards then left Mrs. Bogdanovich; joining Elliott and Ari again on the second floor.

"Well?" Elliott asked.

"Oh she's definitely not operating on all cyllinders...and there's something going on. She claims the son lives with her...but I don't think he does... I have a feeling we've hit on something with this one. She just may have Illya...not in the apartment... tucked away somewhere else in the building perhaps?" he winked.

"Napoleon...how could she have lifted him and ta where...he's skinny but he's not all that light ye know?"

"There's a dumbwaiter at the end of the hall?" suggested Ari.

"Basement!" they all said at the same time, immediately heading down the stairs. They found the door to the basement locked; Napoleon attched a piece of exposive putty and an ignition wire to the lock then pulled the stem to his wristwatch. The was a silent puff of smoke, then he opened the door; the three of them walking inside.

Solo felt along the wall for a light switch; flipping it on...only to be disappointed by what they found.

There was only the building furnace, water heaters and a stack of cardboard boxes filled with old Christmas decorations stacked his against the back wall...

"Damn...I was so sure," Elliott cursed," she leaned her head against Napoleon's shoulder disappointed at their findings.

"Got that right, " he mumbled, equally dejected..."my gut still tells me we're on the right track though."


	3. Chapter 3

Illya opened his eyes, seeing a pair of slippered feet standing in front of him. He raised his head; viewing the rest of her. It was an older woman in a dressing gown staring down at him, with her arms crossed in front of her.

"Well what in heaven's name are you doing here?"

"I am afraid I have met with an unfortunate accident. I am waiting for help to arrive. Please do not concern yourself; there is nothing to be worried about."

"Well that's what you get for not listening to me?" she snapped at him.

"Pardon?'

"You heard me...you wicked boy. You never did listen to mother did you?"

"Madam, I am afraid you have mistaken me for someone else?" Illya started to stand using his hand to support himself against the wall.

"Don't you talk back to me David!" She suddenly produced a broomstick from behind her back and as he scrambled to move, she brought it down on the back of his head; knocking him out cold.

Illya woke up, finding himself lying in a bed with one wrist handcuffed to a wrought iron head board. Looking about; it seemed at first that he was in a bedroom, but then maybe it was more like a cell. The walls were cinder block and there were odd bits of furniture scatted about, but no windows. There was an terrible but familiar odor in the room.

He became aware there of something next to him in the bed. As Illya pulled back the covers, he gasped...seeing a the desiccated remains of a corpse lying next to him. It's arm shackled to the bed as was his.

He threw the blanket back over it, making a face; then gave it a shove with his leg, pushing it off the side of the bed away from him.

The Russian cursed himself for not having his loc pick with him for once but who would have thought he would have needed it just a few blocks from headquarters when simply tagging along on a drop.

His shoulder was throbbing, his head pounding as he leaned back against the pillows trying to straighten out in his mind what had happened to him; then he heard her voice as the steel door opened.

She stepped into the room, a woman perhaps in her early sixties...clothed in a floral dress with an apron. Her hair was piled in silver- yellow curls on top of her head. Her face, haggard and worn was made up in heavy face powder with her lips smeared with bright red lipstick; giving her a surreal appearance.

"Why must you always be such a naughty boy David?"

"Madam, you are mistaken.! My name is Illya Kuryakin I am not this...David."

The woman charged forward, slapping Illya across the face.

"Stop your lying! You horrid child!"

"Ya ne veryu eta_ I do not believe this." he mumbled in Russian, rubbing is face.

"Don't you dare use that filthy language of your father's in front of me! It's your fault he left me! If you hadn't been such an evil child; you and your lying ways. I don't want to be reminded of him and his abandoning me with you!"

She held out a wide leather strap, bringing it down suddenly at his face as he attempted to defend himself with his left arm but the bullet wound hampered him.

""Stop!" he tried ordering her, then as the beating continued, a pleading came into his voice. "Stop...please stop it?"

"Please, what?" She asked; her voice softening.

Illya wasn't sure what she wanted to hear.

"Mother!" she yelled at him,"Say it!"

"Please stop...mother?" he droned.

"That's a good boy. Now mother is going to do something about that disgusting hair of yours."

"What?" he blurted out.

"That ridiculous hair has to go...you need a proper hair cut!"

"Nyet hui ne sposob_no fucking way!" he cursed at her.

"You will NOT use that language again!" She said angrily; smashing the hair clipper against his face. " I won't have you speaking it!"

Illya grapped the clipper from her hand; flinging it across the room, then grabbed her wrist.

"I AM NOT DAVID!" he yelled at her. " Look at me...look into my eyes. I... am... not... David!"

The woman stopped for a moment, looking at the Russian intently as he relaxed his grip on her wrist. "Look at me?"

Her expression suddenly changed; softening, becoming more focused, as if she were returning to reality.

"I am so sorry," she stammered; reaching out gently stroking Illya's cheek with her hand.

"I need help," he said carefully," I have been shot and I need to get to a hospital. Can you please help me?"

Without warning she screamed, raking her nails across his face, drawing blood.

"Nooooo!" she wailed.

She walked over to a dresser, getting out another set of handcuffs; putting them on Illya's free hand securing it to the headboard as well. Then she retrieved the clippers from the floor and proceeded to chop away at his blond locks.

She threw the pieces of his hair to the floor, then she took a pair of shears, cutting away his jacket and shirt.

She stared at his scars."Look at you boy? How could you not take care of yourself? She removed the handcuff from his left wrist, then left him in silence; locking the door behind her.

There was a small hand mirror on the night stand, and Illya picked it up; looking at his butchered hair. He shook his head."Der'mo_shit! "he mumbled to himself, thinking Elliott would be pissed about it, but then knew that his hair was the least of his worries.

He glanced over to where the body now lay at the other side of the bed, wondering it that was the real David or just another prisoner in this woman's demented world and hoped that Napoleon would find him before he met the same fate...

He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes; fighting off his pain, finally drifting off to sleep.

When he woke up; feeling as though he had the beginnings of a fever and was concerned now that his wound was developing an infection. He decided it best not to touch the bandaging that the woman had at least seen fit not to cut away as she had his clothing.

He heard the door lock click again; readying himself for the next round.

"Ah you're finally awake. Are you hungry? My my, you slept the entire day away!"she clicked her tongue at him.

"I am a bit hungry," he answered weakly, "Can you help me please? I am ill, I need medical attention."

"Can you help me please...what?" she parroted his words.

"Can you help me please...mother?"

"Only if you promise to be a good boy?"

Illya went along with her delusion.."I will be a good boy for yyou...mother." he stuttered, suddenly beginning to shake with the chills.

"That's much better David." She disappeared from the room, then returning a short while later carrying a tray with a bowl of chicken soup, a small glass of water and two white tablets.

She held the pills towards him in the palm of her hand but Illya refused to take them.

That angered her and she threw the bowl of hot soup at him."You'll get nothing now for your supper you disobedient boy!" She left him alone, closing the door with a booming clang; locking it again.

He wasn't sure how long it had been when she finally appeared again, carrying another bowl of soup. She said nothing to him as she sat beside the bed offering him a spoonful.

"What too hot?" she tasted it,"maybe a little, but mother will cool it off for you. Now have some and make mother happy?"

Illya finally accepted it; letting her feed him a spoonful at a time. She blew on each, one after the other to cool it off; repeating herself each time, "There, that's just right," until the soup was gone.

She stared at him for a moment as if expecting something. Then Illya decided to err on the side of caution. "Thank you...mmother." he whispered to her.

"That's much better," she smiled, giving him a pat on the head. He winced at her touch as his head was still pounding.

He dozed off as soon as she left him, with his temperature rising, blood loss and dehydration; he was beginning to weaken.

Illya suddenly woke, as mother had reappeared; lashing out at him with the strap, hitting him again and again until he was covered in welts...some of which were now bleeding.

Then just as suddenly; she left him, muttering to herself.

Illya felt utterly confused. What was it he had he done to trigger her outrage or was it something this David person had done to her once and now she was reliving it?

He had to figure a way out, otherwise he would surely die. He closed his eyes again, exhausted now from the beating.

"Illuyshka?" he heard his name being called," wake up sleepy head?"

"mama?" he gasped awake, aware that it was his mother's voice," gde ty mama...ya ne vizhu tebya_where are you mama...I cannot see you?"

"Mama is here my angel...I will always be with you. Do not worry it will be alright, they are coming for you. I love you Illuyshka...never forget that."

There were tears running down his cheeks a Illya called out to his mother, reaching out with his hand, but there was no one standing there. Was he hallucinating, did he hear his mother calling to him? Was she telling him he would live or letting him know that it was his time to die?

He began to shiver violently and had no choice but to pull the blanket up from the side of the bed off his gruesome companion; covering himself with it; feeling like maybe it was just time to die after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Illya watched the woman as she dragged an old-fashioned galvanized bathtub into the room, then as she continued in and out the door, carrying buckets of hot water to fill it.

Then she poured bath soap into it, frothing the water a bit with her hand until it was full of white soap bubbles.

"You're filthy and you smell terrible David; it's time your bath.

She attached a chain to the headboard, then to the handcuffs, permitting Illya to step a few feet away from the bed. Then she stood with the broom stick in her hand again, ordering him to get undressed and into the water.

Illya had no choice to but obey; removing his clothing; he lowered himself into the tub.

She poured the soapy water over his head with a bucket, then proceeded to scrub him briskly with a stiff bristle brush as if she were trying to scour away the scars from his skin...he gritted his teeth as the brush dug into to the welts on his back, still tender from her beating; then yelped out in pain as she pulled off the bloody towel that had covered his wound; and began digging the brush into it vigorously, trying to wash away the blood.

"Stop being such a baby David! I can't believe all this dirt on you skin!"

"Please stop mmother, I...I can wwash myself?" he pleaded.

She handed him a washcloth as he lowered himself farther down into the hot water; letting it warm him a bit; soothing his pain as the bathwater darkened from his bloody wounds.

"That's enough," she announced, handing him a coarse bath towel as he rose; shivering violently. Illya toweled dried himself, but he could not stop shaking from his chills.

"These I think these will be tossed in the incinerator," she said, holding up the remainder of his clothing.

He climbed back into the bed with only the damp towel still wrapped around him. "Mother? he asked softly."Please I am vvvery cold...I am sick."

She went to the dresser, pulling out another blanket, covering him with it. She then leaned down, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "My you do feel a little feverish? I'll come back with some nice soup and some aspirin for you. Now you won't give mother a hard time about taking your medicine again will you?

"No I wwil not, I promise. Thank yyou mmother," he said, playing the game.

It had been over 48 hours since Illya Kuryakin had disappeared. Napoleon, Elliott and her partner Ari had searched the apartment building from top to bottom and found no trace of the missing Russian. And Napoleon was beginning to question his gut; wondering if Thrush had indeed gotten hold of his partner after all?

"No." he told himself," his instincts were usually right. There was absolutely no chatter on Thrush frequencies about it. If they had captured or killed the number 2 section II UNCLE agent of North America; then they would be boasting about it. Thrush always liked to brag.

"That crazy woman had to be involved some how?" he told himself. Napoleon became convinced of it; then he suddenly came up with a plan to figure out how.

It had started rain when a woman came into the apartment building, looking very much like a homeless vagabond as she walked up to the landing of the third floor; sitting at the top of the steps. She was dressed in mis-matched, ill fitting clothing: her grey hair sticking out in ringlets from beneath a dirty, tattered knit cap.

She was munching away on an apple and watched as Mrs. Bogdanovich came out of her apartment carrying a pot of soup with her and a wide leather strap that was obviously stained with blood.

Mrs. Bogdanovich was not pleased at the sight, "riff raff!" she said loudly" GO squat somewhere else you disgusting creature! _You _don't belong here!"

"Hey live and let live lady... just trying to get in out of the rain and stay dry," the poor soul answered her back." how about sharing some of that soup?"

Mrs. Bogdanovich lifted her nose with a "humph!" giving the woman a wide berth as she headed down the long flight of stairs. As soon as she was out of hear shot, the vagabond whispered into her hand." Ari...she's coming yer way darlin'"

There was a man sweeping the landing on the next floor...a young man, darker complected dressed in coveralls and whistling happily as he performed his menial task.

"And who are are you?" Mrs. Bogdanovich demanded," I know everyone who works in this building...and I don't know _you_!"

"I'm Ari madam...the assistant to the new building superintendent."

She eyed him suspiciously. "And where are you from young man?" she asked hearing his accent," you're not from this country are you?"

"Brooklyn lady...I'm from Brooklyn" he answered adjusting his voice.

"She thought for a moment. "You sounded like you were a foreigner for a minute and I have had my fill of foreigners! Terrible people...can't be relied on for anything. They use you and abuse you then, they just up and leave, abandoning you...not even saying a word!" She drifted back from her tirade, then stared at him again, as if studying him.

"Well see you do a good job young man, goodness knows this place is in sore need of attention. I live on the fourth floor...you do a good job on the up there or you'll hear it from me!"

"Yeah, whatever, lady."

"EXCUSE me young man?"

"Errr...yes ma'am."

Mrs. Bogdanovich continued down the stairs..."she's on her way Napoleon, carrying a pot of soup," Ari whispered into his transmitter.

Napoleon was wearing brown coveralls, disguised with a false grey moustache and wig, he was cleaning up the floor with a mop and bucket.

"Afternoon Mrs." he mumbled.

"Don't tell me..._you_ are the new janitor?"

"Si...yes Mrs. I'ma Antonio Baccigalupe...you new supa. Can I helpa you with that...smells really gooda?" Napoleon reached towards the the pot of soup.

"No you may not!" she said curtly. "This is for my son David! Now get about your business and do your work, you foreigner _you_...and you better do a perfect job on the fourth floor! I live there and I'll be watching you! I could have you deported! I had my own husband deported! You people are good for nothing! You never do what you're supposed to do and just leave everything behind don't you!"

"Hey lady...I gotta be a nita-wit to take thisa but no need to threathen me eh? Si capisce? Justa leave me be and leta me do my work? He made a rude gesture at her with his hand.

"No _you_ leave me be, I have to go see my son, he's waiting for me!" she said taking the next flight of stairs down.

"Bingo...basement." Napoleon whispered into his radio, bringing Elliott and Ari to his side within seconds.

They followed the woman down the stairs, careful not to let her hear them as she approached the door. She inserted a key to the lock, not aware that it was broken; she never noticed as she turned the key, pushing it open. She let herself in and the agents heard a click sounding as if she had relocked the door.

"Didn't ye burn that lock Napoleon?"

"I did...let's hope it's not a dead bolt?" Solo turned the handle, giving the heavy door a gentle nudge. Opening it with a sigh of relief, just enough to see the woman set the pot of soup down and begin to move the cartons of decorations aside, revealing another metal door.

"Son of a bitch," Solo cursed silently, chastising himself for missing it.

She unlocked it, then picked up the soup and disappeared inside; this time there was no sound of this door being locked.

Mrs. Bogdanovich smiled happily announcing her presence to her son...

"Mother is back David. Have you been a good boy?" she said staring at Illya lying curled up in a ball on the bed, his arm dangling from the headboard. She placed the pot on top of a dresser, preparing to ladle it into a bowl.

Illya lifted his head weakly from the pillow; having formuated one last idea to try to trick her into freeing him. He spoke to her, knowing that if this did not work; then it would more than likely be over for him and he'd end up like the corpse at the other side of the bed. His hopes at a rescue by Napoleon had faded.

"Mother," he whispered hoarsely; his throat parched from lack of water," you are right, I been a very bad boy...mmay I make up for it? It is _mother's day_ after all," he lied to her, trying to manipulate the woman. "Let me ttake you out...I could buy you new dress. Yes..a beautiful nnew dress?"

"It's mother's day?" she smiled sweetly at him.

Illya coughed trying to clear his dry throat."Yes, mmother dearest it is...could we go now? We could stroll in the sun...in a ppark to show off your new frock. Need to just ffree my arm mmother? It is after all it is yyour special dday?" he could barely get the words out.

"Free your arm?" she smiled at him.

"Yes mmother, pplease free mmy arm? We nneed to ggo, or we will mmiss mother's dday."

She paused for a moment, looking very pleased. The she reached beneath her apron for what Illya hoped were the keys to the cuffs. Then her smile suddenly changed to an almost feral grin as she instead pulled out a gun from beneath the apron... it was Illya's own special!

"No David, you're trying to trick mother again! You know, I think I've been wasting my time with you, you are incorrigible! You will never change and I have wasted my trying to get you to be good for your mother! Her hands shook as she aimed the gun at the Russian. "You evil, ungrateful boy...I am done with you!"

"Hold it right there lady!" Napoleon called from behind, aiming his own special towards her.

She turned seeing Elliott standing beside Solo, now without her disguise. "YOU! This is your fault...you turned him against me and into this disgusting, lying animal" she screamed; pointing the gun at Elliott now, readying to pull the trigger.

Napoleon and Elliott both fired their weapons and the woman crumpled to the floor; not dead but unconscious from their their tranquilizer darts.

Elliott rushed to her husband; cradling him in her arms, whispering to him. "We're here Illuysha, it's alright now, it's over."

"Hey buddy," Napoleon smiled as he uncuffed his partner's wrist. "See what happens when you insist you be left behind?"

Illya croaked, "next time I ask, ignore me?

Several days later Kuryakin lay in his familiar bed in the medical wing at headquarters, with several IV lines running from his arms. His bullet wound attended to with surgery and a proper bandage applied, his other wounds dabbed with antibiotic ointments.

"So when can I get out of here?" he asked the doctor. Max Schneider had lost count as to the number of times the Russian had said that to him.

"Look Illya, you're not going to wear me down, so stop asking me? Let's see, other than an infected bullet wound, a concussion, scrapes, infected welts on your chest, minor burns and dehydration, I'd say you're doing fine enough to leave in a few more days. Believe me, my staff will be very happy to see your grouchy Russian ass out of here none too soon," Max laughed.

"Soon is not enough," Illya smiled.

"Hey Doc," Napoleon called from the doorway," is he being being a happy camper?"

"What do you think?" Max smiled, "he's all yours Napoleon, have a nice visit with Mr. Congeniality."

Solo pulled up a chair alongside his partner's bed," So what, no wise crack?"

Illya was quiet for a moment, obviously preparing to say something, but it was not what Solo anticipated.

"Exactly how did you find me? he finally asked.

"Just as bit of brilliant detective work, if I say so myself," Solo grinned. "well plus my usual luck and good instincts of course? Mrs. Bogdanovich wasn't exactly..."

"Normal?"

"Yeah, to say the least? There was just something about her that told my gut that she was the one up to something.

"Hello boy-o's!" Elliott said as she walked in, eyeing her husband's hair that had been cut even shorter by a barber that Napoleon had brought in to neaten it up.

"Oh Jay-sus, Illuysha, your beautiful hair? That looks terrible..."then she realized that statement had not made Illya look very happy. " Well, at least it'll grow back in?"

Illya reached up absentmindedly rubbing the stubble on top of his head, turning his attention back to his partner.

"Well all I can say is you took your time finding me... as usual Napoleon. If you had gotten there sooner, I might not have lost my hair?"

"See Ellie? I knew the ingrate would have a smart remark!

"Illuysha, that was not a very nice thing to say...maybe Mrs. Bogdanovich was right, you are an ungrateful child?" she teased her husband.

"Elliott?" Illya protested, then changed his demeanor ,"Of course I am grateful to have been rescued. Thank you my friend," he said, returning his gaze to his partner,"I really thought this time I was going to die, especially when I started hallucinating that my own mother was speaking to me."

"Hey partner, we've experienced a lot of strange things over the years...ghosts, you seeing the Jersey Devil and plenty of other un-explainable things. How do you know it really wasn't your mother talking to you...remember through God, all things are possible? Or am I mistaken in your return in your belief in Him?"

"No you are not." Illya's thoughts drifted for a moment suddenly wondering again if his mother had truly spoken him by the grace of God; coming to him, giving him hope in his moment of despair. He put the thought aside to be debated over later; returning to reality, "So what happened to Mrs. Bogdanovich?"

"Psyche ward at Bellevue Hospital," Napoleon said," NYPD is investigating, since there was a body found with you."

Illya was released from medical three days later, assigned to light duty for another day. He was sitting at his desk doing some paperwork when his telephone rang.

"Hey tovarisch," said Napoleon," you have a visitor here to see you...it's _David_."

"David?" he repeated," there is a real David?"

"Apparently so. Bellevue has had previously experience with Mrs. Bogdanovich. Her son David works as a medical examiner for the city and is friends with the police commissioner, that's how he found out about you...and us. He's in the section two conference room."

The door to the office opened silently as Illya walked in, seeing his wife seated at the table with a young blond man with long hair tied back in a pony tail, beside him another red-headed woman. They bore no exact physical resemblance to he and Elliott, but their appearance explained some of Mrs. Bogdanovich's delusion.

"Hello, I am Illya Kuryakin," he introduced himself, offering his hand.

"Hello Mr. Kuryakin, I'm David Colum, and this is my wife Katherine...Kate actually. I'd like to apologize, I am so very sorry for for what my mother did to you. You see she suffers from paranoid schizophrenia, as well as Xenophobia...the fear of foreigners. I was unaware that mother had gone off her medications again. She is a difficult person even when medicated and absolutely hates my wife. She blamed Kate for having taken me away from her. You see Kate is from Ireland...a foreigner and that's what the psyciatric team thinks may have triggered her Xenophobia."

"Well that explains yer mother's reaction when she met me then?" Elliott said.

"I am a little confused,"Illya said," your mother's name is Bogdanovich and claimed to have a Russian husband...your father? Yet your surname is Colum?

"Yuri Bogdanovich was my step-father. He walked out on my mother years ago. She tried putting the blame on me for diving him away, when it was her own obsessiveness that did it. It all become part of her dementia. We've been unable to identify the body found in the basement but irregardless; I'm afraid mother will probably be staying at Bellvue indefinitely because of it."

David seemed very sad as he looked at Illya."Please Mr. Kuryakin, is there anyway you can forgive mother for this and is there anything I can do to make make it up to you in some way?"

"It is not necessary, and there is nothing got forgive. She is not a well woman... and after all she is still your mother, perhaps one can only hope she will one day be cured of her infirmities."

"You are a very kind man Mr. Kuryakin, thank you for being so understanding." The Colums rose to leave and Illya suddenly noticed that the wife was pregnant.

"When are you due?" he smiled.

"Ah sure, 'tis around Valentine's Day. We think it's goin' ta be a boy?" she said taking hold of her husband's arm. "It's our first."

"Comghairdeas libhse_congratulations," Illya said in Irish," my wife and I have a son." He reached out taking Elliott's hand, smiling.

"Labhraíonn tú an Ghaeilge_you speak Irish, Kate said with surprise.

"I taught him, Is as Baile Átha Cliath mé_I'm from Dublin." Elliott said. "Go n-eirigh an t-adh libh leis an leanbh nua_good luck with the new baby," Elliott winked, then looking at Illya and he at her, they both smiled.

FINIS


End file.
